


Look Up to the Sky

by ifigo



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Alex making breakfast for dinner, Established Relationship, Flashforward - Freeform, M/M, Me? Voicing my opinions through my fiction? It's exactly as likely as you think. (it's happening), and a side of adele for the spice, featuring Henry's comfort tea, lots of discussions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:55:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29349282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ifigo/pseuds/ifigo
Summary: It isn’t a decision that breaks you - what really gets you is the time it takes to pick between the choices, when you’re half in and half out, pulled apart by both hands.After several months in New York, Henry’s split-time arrangement comes to a tipping point when media speculation forces him to answer a question he never anticipated asking: Is he going to officially step back from the royal family?aka history and how they make it
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 18
Kudos: 104





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What I learned writing this fic: even if it's not supposed to be complicated, I will still find a way to make it long.
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

**October 4, 2021**  
**Brooklyn, New York**

Late one fall evening, Henry sits in the small bedroom-turned-office he and Alex share, staring at a blank document and swirling his comfort tea. As he listens to the rain tapping steadily on the window, he can’t stop his mind from swirling. 

He’d come home and planned on getting a bit more work done before Alex returned from his regularly-scheduled library study session, but his supposed project proposal is as blank now as it was an hour ago. 

He just can’t stop thinking.

Henry is resilient - he’s been torn apart his whole life by everyone under the sun who has access to a newspaper or high-speed internet. But the headlines this week were unbelievable, and they were everywhere: 

_**One Year After the Waterloo Papers, Prince Henry Yet to Step Down** _

**_Prince Henry’s American Charade Fractures Royal Family_ **

**_The American Prince? Henry’s Role in Royal Family Left Unclear_ **

Normally Henry was fantastic at ignoring the attention, considering he was literally a trained professional in the art of keeping his shit to himself. But when he came home from the shelter this evening to be bombarded by two reporters and a camera on the front stoop, prepped and ready to hound him within an inch of his sanity, it became officially too much. They could increase their security, sure, but that level of violation - having people invade his and Alex’s personal space, their _home_ , for the sake of tabloid speculation - was the final straw. He needs to make a statement about the rumors. A decision.

Is he going to officially step back from the royal family? 

Henry’s continued role in the royal family since the move to NYC six months ago has been good, all things considered. He goes over for big occasions every two months or so, most notably including Trooping the Colour last June and a high-publicity joint venture promoting his and Bea’s foundations. It’s manageable - very manageable. On the other hand, there was that one time he went to London to celebrate his parent’s anniversary and his sister’s birthday during the same week Alex was called off to DC, and for about twenty-four hours the whole world thought they’d had an explosive breakup. His and Alex’s positions were… a lot, sometimes. 

Remarkably, Henry’s personal relationships with his family had largely remained steady or generally improved during his physical absence. The Queen still wasn’t speaking to him except to scold him, but Philip was actually making significant progress on intentionally pulling his head out of his ass, and if the deal was his grandmother for his brother then Henry was more than happy to accept the trade. Catherine had emerged back into the spotlight in the wake of the emails radiant and fully capable, back in the game and thriving on her own pedestal. And, of course, there was Bea. Bea was the same as ever, pushing and pulling the monarchy to her every will. Bea was amazing. 

So, no, Henry’s move to New York had not fractured the royal family, nor had it prohibited him from partaking in the most important events and managing his foundation. After all, when it came down to it he was only one flight away. 

Alex was being, at least in Henry’s eyes, a saint about the entire arrangement. Alex is tolerant and understanding and more loving than Henry knew possible; _definitely_ more caring than Henry believes he deserves. He is compassionate about the fact that sometimes Henry has to leave, that he juggles royal work with shelter work, and never fails to bring him back up anytime his brain betrays him and his old anxieties surrounding his place in the world return. Henry did all he could to be the same type of support for Alex since he’d started at NYU Law - making sure he alternated between coffee and water during long study sessions, and always listening to his impassioned rants about classwork, but distracting him and dragging him away from his desk whenever he pushes himself too hard. 

More than anything, Henry was just plain _happy_ to wake up in the same bed as Alex nine times out of ten. As long as they can be there for each other, they’ll be okay. They’ll be beautiful. 

But the negative thoughts never seem to fall silent. _But maybe they can’t make this work._

Sighing, Henry drops his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair and pulling at the roots. He’s stressed. He needs Alex. 

-

Alex is cooking a late dinner, something involving stirring eggs and peppers, when Henry takes a seat at one of their stout wicker barstools, folding his hands on the gray marble counter. From the side, Henry can see that he has pushed the sleeves of his flannel up to show off his forearms, and there’s a smidge of batter on his forehead. Henry once again finds himself having to refrain from jumping Alex while the stove is hot. It’s a daily struggle. 

He watches as Alex carefully dips pancake batter onto a hot skillet with a sizzle, humming a tune that sounds mysteriously like an old Adele song, apparently oblivious to Henry’s presence. 

“Are you making breakfast for dinner?” Henry breaks the silence, choosing to temporarily ignore his problems in favor of focusing on his beautiful boyfriend and the beautiful smell wafting from the stove. 

“Yes, yes I am,” Alex pivots to grin at Henry, tapping a half-assed rhythm on the edge of the skillet with his plastic spatula. “Does it offend your delicate English sensibilities?” 

He attempts a laugh, but it comes out a little choked around his tight smile. “No, it actually sounds fantastic.” 

It was after eight in the evening on a mid-semester Monday that - if Alex’s texts throughout the day were anything to go off of - had felt like a week all by itself. Alex had just emerged out of a four-hour revising session at the library for the class that was giving him the most trouble, yet here he was, smiling and singing and flipping pancakes for both of them. Henry knew at least part of that was a distraction; Alex wanted to feel like that even if school is a bitch he can still do something nice for his boyfriend, but Henry was nevertheless impressed that Alex found the energy to think of him time and time again. Henry knew it wasn’t easy for Alex, but he tried anyway, and it melted Henry’s heart to know his presence was reassuring, even in the smallest way. Alex Claremont-Diaz: First Son, law student, attentive boyfriend, and occasional miracle worker. 

That’s a thought: abandon the BRF, hide in Alex’s kitchen and eat his food for the rest of his life. Sounds appealing, assuming he’ll eventually become accustomed to the spice. The list of things Henry would do for this man is infinite. 

“Are you alright?” Alex asks, pulling Henry from his thoughts. It must have been something in his tone. Alex is, as always, one of the two people best at seeing through Henry’s bullshit, even when he had a long day himself. He’s glancing at Henry as much as he can without burning something, concern written in the lines on his forehead. 

“It’s nothing,” Henry lies aimlessly, putting off the inevitable. Alex just waits, and Henry sighs, giving up. He did come down here to talk to Alex, after all. “It’s the media again.” 

“Oh,” Alex hesitates. He can pack so much drama into one syllable. “What’d they do now?” 

“It is… a lot of the same,” Henry begins, shifting in his seat. “They’re speculating about if I’m stepping back from the royal family or not.”

“And besides being invasive and off-base, it’s stressing you out?” Alex guesses, tapping his spatula on the stove again. 

“Precisely,” Henry runs his hands through his hair, and Alex makes his concerned face, eyebrows pinched and eyes soft. Henry doesn’t like that face. “There were reporters on our porch when I got home. And I… I don’t want that to become our life, at least not any more than it already is. I want to make a statement about if I’m going to step back or not.”

Alex flips his last pancake off the skillet and onto the stack. He turns the burner off. “That’s… that’s a big decision,” he begins, walking two plates over to the island, sliding onto the stool across from Henry. “I trust you, and I love you, but babe, that’s huge.” 

“I know,” Henry says, picking at the edge of his pancake, sticking his fork in the bubbles. “But I want to make a decision.” 

He looks across the counter at Alex, who is disturbingly quiet. 

“Well,” Alex begins carefully, watching him with those bottomless eyes like Henry may break, “No matter how you do it, make whatever decision you feel most comfortable with.” He tilts his head, considering. “You also don’t have to make a decision right this instant, or maybe at all. There’s no one holding a gun to your head and forcing you to choose.”

“Are you sure? The _Mail_ article felt particularly threatening.”

“The _Mail_ can go fuck itself,” Alex deadpans. “This is your life,” he says, reaching across the counter to hold Henry’s hand, rubbing his thumb over the knuckles. “You get to decide what you do and when. Which might be new for you, but seriously. It’s your choice. And I’ll back you, a thousand percent.”

“One thousand percent, huh?” Henry quips, smirking at him. 

“Shut up,” Alex smiles. He shifts, poking Henry’s arm half-heartedly, making them both laugh.

They stay like that for a bit, hand in hand, eating in a kitchen they decorated themselves, all white marble countertops and navy cabinets, the sound of traffic in the distance and rain falling on the windows. Their own perfect bubble of peace. Henry never thought he could have this, not in a thousand lifetimes. And certainly not in this one. 

Henry sighs. “I never want to lose this, to lose us.”

“You’re not going to,” Alex affirms, holding his hand tighter. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“So I’ve noticed,” he jokes, but there’s no bite behind it. He looks up from his plate, making eye contact. “Do you want to help me make a pros and cons list?”

It’s something Henry noticed within their first month of living together - every time Alex had a big decision to make, he'd write up lists, on sticky notes, copy paper, stray notebook pages, whatever was available. He’d leave them on any available surface, which should have annoyed Henry, but he loved to see what was on Alex’s mind, to know a little more about how his brain worked. Perhaps it was time to borrow a page from his book. 

“Now you’re speaking my language. Do you want to start?” Alex smiles. “Before we begin, I apologize for how into this I may get. It’s been a long day.” 

“You’re forgiven,” Henry laughs. He corrects his posture and begins his list. “Okay. One benefit of stepping back: we don’t have to live with the media expectation of royalty anymore.” 

“Alternatively,” Alex counters, brandishing his fork. “Con: the media shifts from how you’re not doing what you’re _supposed_ to do, to being on your ass about driving your family apart.” 

“They are already doing that, and it’s not even true. Maybe we forgo adding that to the list,” Henry grimaces, thinking. “However, pro, we wouldn’t have to follow the ridiculous levels of royal protocol surrounding literally every aspect of our lives.”

“That’s a big one,” Alex agrees solemnly. 

Henry nods. “So many things would be so much easier if we didn’t have to follow all Gran’s rules.”

He didn’t have to say it, they both knew. Recently the Queen had begun making some offhand remarks to whoever was in the room, things like “one step further than permissible” or “seek more reasonable alternatives” or “against the spirit of the Church of England.” Things that made it abundantly clear that, if asked, she would not allow Henry and Alex to marry. Marriage was not the next thing on their respective agendas, but still. It was all but inevitable. 

It was her against the entire rest of the senior royal family, all of whom are incredibly intimidating in their own right - but at the end of the day she is the Queen of England, and the rest of them are merely her pawns. 

“Not to be crass,” Alex tests, watching Henry thoughtfully. “But Mary can’t live forever.” 

Henry lets out a short laugh. “I wouldn’t be so sure. But I do see your point, yes. Mum is nicer.” 

“And has a soul, and lives in this century, and is already making positive changes.” Alex ticks off on one hand. “And, you know, actively loves you.”

“Yeah,” Henry concedes. “But, another benefit of leaving, my work may also be more constrained if I stay. As it stands I can’t have much of a say at all regarding current events, and I know how important that is to you. Plus, I’d be able to look into more avenues of funding for the shelters without receiving the crown’s approval first.”

Alex takes a deep breath, narrowing his eyes. Henry can’t tell if he’s coming up with an argument or just very invested in his pancake. “It’s hard to counter that one. I think it stands,” he eventually says. “But, at the risk of sounding like an ass, the platform you and I already hold is… it’s huge. Imagine, if you stay,” he extrapolates, gesturing excitedly between them, “the massive positive impact on the queer community. The gay prince who stood there and fucking _owned it_.”

_The gay prince who stayed_. It was appealing, to say the least, the idea of being himself in the light of day. Still, it didn’t quite feel possible, with all the powers and all the odds and all the critics with their regressive ways personally working against them. 

Maybe he just had to do it, own it, to stand there and be himself, pave the road himself. Henry - Henry _and_ Alex - would have to be the first. 

They were making history every day, Henry knew that. Now they had to not fuck it up. No pressure. 

Henry twirls a piece of fruit, thinking, before he realizes what Alex has been saying. “Every point you’ve made has been in favor of staying. I’m not saying I don’t want to, but is that what you think I should do?”

Alex shakes his head, resolved, curls bouncing. “It’s entirely up to you. History-making implications aside, I think… I think if you left the royal family our lives would probably be easier, or at least a more manageable kind of chaos. But this is more than quitting a job or something - they’re your family, Hen. And most of them love you. I’m not saying you _should_ stay, but that’s not something I can encourage you to walk away from.” 

He has a point. Was the back-and-forth travel, the media scrutiny, and his grandmother’s ever-looming presence occasionally exhausting? Yes. But did Henry love them? Also yes. Sometimes it was inconvenient. 

“There’s also the fact that if you did walk away,” Alex continues, solemn, “it would look like you’re leaving because you’re gay.”

Way to hit the nail on the head, Alex. The goddamn fact he can’t walk away from. The bombshell that rocked the world and brought Henry his happiness. His legacy. If he walked away now, it would undermine too much of what they’ve worked for. 

“That’s not a precedent I want to set,” Henry says on an exhale. “I feel like… I don’t know. There’s a real opportunity to make waves if I stay, right? Good waves, to change the monarchy for the better,” he reasons himself back into it, “I mean, hell, what if Philip and Martha have a kid who turns out to be queer? If I do abdicate, I don’t want them to feel like they have to step back just because I did. If nothing else, I should stay and do my best to make it better for them.”

“This is your life right now Henry, not some hypothetical scenario decades away. You don’t have to worry about anybody who doesn’t already exist,” Alex emphasizes. “If you do stay, stay for you.”

“I’ve got no other way to think besides worrying about everybody else,” Henry rushes. 

“I know,” Alex says, lips curling into a quiet smile. “And I love it about you. If a potentially unhealthy amount of altruism is how you need to rationalize it, then by all means. But don’t lose yourself in the process. I like you too much.” 

“Thank you,” he offers quietly, looking down. He runs a hand through his already-ruffled hair. “I’m sorry,” he sighs, “It’s not fair for me to put all of this on you. And I don’t just mean this conversation. These decisions affect you in a big way as well.” 

Henry sits, helpless, as Alex gazes at him with soft eyes, and any potential frustration melts away. “Henry, I knew exactly what I signed up for the moment we decided we were forever,” Alex says. Henry happily takes his waiting hand across the table. “And I accepted it, probably earlier than that if I’m being honest.”

“I- thank you,” Henry stumbles. 

“I know that being with you, and you being a royal has some serious implications on what I can and will do. I’ve known that for a long time,” Alex continues, looking up at Henry. He runs a hand through his own hair, eyes flitting to the side, thinking. “I’m almost certain I can get past the emolument clause if it comes to that. Either way, we can cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“It’s not fair of me to ask you to give up your ambitions,” Henry asserts. That’s been the issue the whole time, hasn’t it? “It would be so much harder to run for public office if you’re still involved with me and I’m still involved with them. And the press, and the pressure… it’s too much for me to ask of you.”

Alex shakes his head firmly. “You’re not asking me to do anything. I’m here completely on purpose. And who says I’d be giving anything up, really? There are several ways to make good change in the world. What I’m unwilling to give up is you,” he pauses for a second, “And I’d rather give up a few of my more longshot ambitions than ask you to give up your family.” 

Henry flits his eyes away, then back, doing that thing where he sticks his jaw out all proud and brave. “You’re my family as well now, Alex.”

Alex pauses, face shifting to a pleasant neutral. A flash of cold runs through Henry, snaking from his feet to his fingertips. He’s afraid he’s finally gone too far, that Alex doesn’t feel the same, when his mouth quirks up into a tiny smile across the table. 

“I- “ Alex starts. “I don’t think I’d thought about it that way yet, but yeah. You’re family to me too.” 

Henry knows many words in more than one language, he’s sure of it, and he has a history of being very good with these words. He’s got a degree and an international scandal to prove it. But he still can’t shake the feeling that he’ll never find a way in any language or any medium to explain how much love he has for the man sitting across the bar. 

“Not for me, not for the world, but for you,” Alex looks at Henry, a burning earnesty in his eyes, and asks, firmly: “What do _you_ want?” 

Maybe not the most recent time Alex asked Henry this question, but certainly the most memorable, was their fight at Kensington after Henry fled the lakehouse. When they decided they were forever. Somehow, this time feels almost as important.

Henry takes a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut before opening them, fierce and shining. “I reserve the right to change my mind at a later date, but,” he stops. “I don’t want to step back. It might be hard, but I want to stay.”

Alex looks on kindly, love shining in his eyes, big swirling oceans of deep whiskey. “Then do it. We’ll figure out the details together,” Alex whispers, before pulling Henry across the counter for a brief but deep kiss. “Let’s make history.” 


	2. Thirty Years Later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“I feel like… I don’t know. There’s a real opportunity to make waves if I stay, right? Good waves. I mean, hell, what if Philip and Martha have a kid who turns out to be queer? If I do abdicate, I don’t want them to feel like they have to step back just because I did. If nothing else, then I should stay for them.”_

**June 30, 2051**  
**Anmer Hall, Norfolk, England**

Margot paced along the length of her locked bedroom, wearing a hole in the ancient rug and pointedly ignoring her phone across the room on her dresser. The setting sun outside her tall windows cast long shadows across the room: it was time for her to stop nervously twisting her hair and act. She needed to do this before midnight or her long months of political strategizing would be wasted. 

Her loved ones knew - her brother, her parents, their family, and her closest friends, a confession made long ago that thankfully resulted in many hugs and minimal fanfare. And there were a few people from uni that suspected the truth or outright knew from very personal experience. The only people not locked down by NDAs were her girlfriend’s parents, but she would trust them with her life. It was clean right now, with minimal loose ends, which Margot appreciated. 

The next step in her plan was, well. The next step was to tell the whole world. 

The post has been drafted for a week - all by her own hand, mind you, proofread once by her cousin with a nod and a smile. She wouldn’t let anyone else write something like this, not when it was so earth-shatteringly important. All that was left to be done was to click post. 

That was the thing though. No matter what happened after this, no matter how good or bad the public reaction was, this was a tipping point with no way back. As it stood, she could sneak into the summer sun and never be heard from again and never have to say anything. Become an old cat lady, with secret lovers on the side, never marrying. She could stay here, perfect, safe. Closeted. 

Or she could be free to love on her own terms. And at the end of the day, there was no other honest way for her to be. 

“ _Dammit_ ,” she breathes, looking out the window in search of answers but finding only wet grass and a summer drizzle. The only way this is going to happen is if she does it herself. 

Margot pivots, deciding to move before she can stop herself. She marches over to her dresser, bare feet beating into the floor, swipes her phone open, and, giving the caption one final once-over, presses _post_. 

She drops her phone to the wood surface with a clatter, as though it burned her, sitting back on her heels and waiting. The notifications pool up slowly and then all at once, her phone exploding with likes and comments and texts and, impressively quickly, news alerts. 

But through it all, the only things Margot can feel beyond her glowing smile are her own hot tears of relief. 

-

 _Instagram handle:_ @hrhmargaret  
_Geotag:_ London, England

 _Image description:_  
Princess Margaret, a young woman of about twenty, is shown in a headshot with a blurred grassy background. She wears a simple monochrome outfit consisting of a black blazer over a muted gray blouse, allowing her fair face to be the main focus. Her long honey-brown waves fall around her shoulders, framing her warm dark eyes as she smiles openly from behind thick lashes. She’s clearly relaxed, the picture capturing her mid-laugh as she looks towards something or someone slightly to the side of the camera. On her face are six clean lines of thick paint - red, orange, and yellow on one cheek, and green, blue, and purple on the other, proudly gleaming in the summer sun. 

_Caption:_  
It’s no secret that I am a person who finds comfort in logic and predictability. Matters of my own heart are no exception. But sometimes, life throws curveballs. 

My name is Margaret, and I’m a lesbian. 

Like countless others, I was initially afraid of what this truth means, and I was hesitant to speak it into the world for fear of retribution and recoil. I feel lucky to be writing this, to have a positive personal support system so that when I felt prepared to come out, I have been able to do so in my own way and on my terms, with support and reassurance.

This is personal - it is not my desire for my orientation to become a rhetorical cornerstone, but I do have a few things I wish to say:

Countless strides towards equality have been made by amazingly brave pioneers, without whom that LGBTQ community as we know it would not exist. To you, past and present: thank you for creating a space where anyone and everyone can belong. 

And to those who are not in a fortunate position, who are hiding their identity by choice or by necessity, I see you. And if you’ll have me, I want to fight with and for you. 

\- Yours always, Margot

-

There’s a series of familiar knocks on the door - two fast, one slow. She unlocks the door and swings it open, revealing her brother brandishing a smile and his phone, her post pulled up on the glowing screen. 

“Who did you have to bribe to write this caption for you?” James smirks, walking into the room. 

Margot scoffs mockingly, crossing her hands across her chest. “I wrote it myself, you arse! And I’m damn proud of it too,” she snaps, kicking the door shut behind him. 

“I know,” James’s voice softens. “It is really good, I like it. I’m glad you did it.” 

He flops on the bed with a thump, blond curls bouncing out in a halo. 

She lays down next to him, pressing her nails into the embroidered bedspread. “How’s the post doing?” she asks the ceiling. 

“It’s doing well,” James says. “None of the articles are critical, yet. Mum and Dad have liked the post, as well as whoever runs the official royal family account, which the world seems to be taking as a good sign. Bea and Alex and our cousins have as well. Henry and I left some nice comments.” 

“Good,” Margot sighs. "Thank you."

She can feel James tense beside her. “You weren’t actually worried about it, were you?” 

“No,” she replies, honest, “but it’s one thing to think your coming out will be received positively, and another to know it because you can see it right in front of you.” 

He nods. 

They stay there in silence for a minute, examining the cobwebs in the high ceiling, tracing the lines in the wood panels. In her head, Margot pretends she can see the stars, through the layers of wood and stone and tile and history. 

Eventually she clears her throat. “Now you just have to post yours,” she tests, nudging him with her shoulder. For James it was… different. It won’t happen soon, and she doesn’t want to push him, but she isn’t sure how else to check-in. 

James looks away, eyes flitting across the ceiling as his hands fidget, spinning his ring. “One day. Not yet.” 

As the shadows grow longer and Margot’s new reality settles in, that old familiar weight on her shoulders is replaced by a tired healing ache. It’s over. She can breathe. 

She sighs, turning her head and asking, trepidatious, “Do you think we’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, meeting her gaze. The corner of his mouth quirks into a warm smile. “We’ll be more than okay.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know about you, but I'm kind of in love with the idea of more queer royal kids.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey hey! Thanks for reading!!
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated


End file.
